


Dark Purple Death

by venturablvd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4636428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venturablvd/pseuds/venturablvd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is injured in the war (apparently). He's not really sure what's happening when he finally wakes up with a strange bit handsome man sitting next to his bed. But he'll find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Purple Death

Dr. John Watson was running, quite possibly faster than he could ever remember going. He knew what was coming, they all did, and so they ran, towards the trees mostly. The doctor was breathing hard, dodging the first trees of the forest as he felt the sudden impact, yards behind him, but close enough. John first felt that strange feeling of not touching the ground but still moving forward as he was propelled ahead. Then came the pain as his head struck the rocky ground, but then a sharp burning pain in his back that lasted only for a hellish moment before the man's vision went black.  
\---  
There was a long period of time where John lived in a world of black. Accompanied by snippets of sound and light touches on his skin that felt and sounded much too far away to be real. The doctor never really slept, and it was very difficult to keep track of time. One, what seemed like a day, there was no noise, only feeling, the feeling of being gently picked up and placed down from one soft surface to another, followed by a quick pain in his left arm. For a while after that everything was still, just darkness as the man tried to form words to voice his confusion, but it was odd; he could sense his mouth and eyes but couldn't control any of them, he couldn't actually control anything on his body he realized. John was so frustrated with it all he tried to concentrate, to tap the army training he had. He'd done harder god damned things than this! The army doctor wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but the noise just wouldn't come. John heard a faint noise suddenly and tried to calm down, there were voices, a man's, one that had grown familiar to him. But there was a softer voice as well, one that he thought he knew but couldn't remember a face to match.  
"Will he...maybe?...yes" he heard pieces that the woman murmured.  
"I'm...you should...tell his...of course" was what he caught of the man's side of the conversation.  
The doctor heard a noise like a door opening and softly shutting. Then a light pressure on his arm, hands maybe, that started to shake after a moment. The pressure stayed there for a while, then disappeared, leaving John in silence once again for quite a while. He felt oddly alone even though he knew people were there, and yet overtime someone came then went, it left him feeling cold. The doctor mentally sighed trying once again to call on his will; one more time telling his eyes to open, his lips to part. Suddenly there was blinding light, a rush of air into his lungs and he was sitting straight up.  
"What the hell was that?!" he gasped as he looked around and blinked. John was...in a hospital room?  
"What? Why am I here? When..." the man was so confused.  
"You had an accident. There was a bomb, you didn't run quite fast enough." a quiet, smooth voice said.  
John whipped his head around; there was a tall, pale man with sharp cheekbones dressed in a nice gray suit with a dark purple shirt underneath. He felt his face go warm and found himself wishing he was dressed in something nicer than a hospital gown.  
"W-who are you exactly?" John stuttered; god dammit he shouldn't act like this. The stranger may be good looking, but he was just that, a stranger.  
"I'm a friend, here to help you" the man looked him over "You can call me Sherlock. And I'm very pleased to help you John."  
The doctor knew that he should question this Sherlock person as to how he knew all of this, but he felt compelled to stand and follow as this strange man left the room.  
"Can I tell you something?" Sherlock asked as he turned down the hall, motioning for John to follow, "I'm fairly intrigued by your life. You've always been smart and kind, choosing to go into medicine at an early age; and then joining the army to take care of soldiers. Then when your sister came out, you were immediately accepting. It's quite a shame that you're leaving so soon." the tall man murmured the last part sounding sad.  
"Wait a minute, what do you mean I'm leaving? I'm going home?" John had to walk fast to keep up with Sherlock, he grasped the man's wrist then pulled back. His skin was freezing cold. "Who the hell are you?! Because you sure as hell aren't a doctor, and I don't think I've ever talked to you before today."  
"I'll tell you, don't worry, first I need to ask you something. Are you happy with your life up to now? Is there more you would wish to do if you were going to die?" He asked calmly.  
"Well I mean...of course, I'm not that old. I was hoping to move back to London, see some of the world. Maybe meet a nice m-...person I could spend my life with."  
"You stuttered at that last part John. What is it?" the man beside him asked, not sounding that interested. What the hell? John thought, I'll never see him again probably.  
"I'm gay. Okay?" he said then sighed, why was he telling this man so much?  
"Okay, I've heard much worse in my time believe me. That's completely fine." Sherlock had now stopped, they were at the top of some stairs. His mother, father, sister and sister's wife were at the bottom talking to a doctor.  
"Mom, dad...Henry? What?-" John noticed then that his sister's eyes were red and puffy, his parents looked horrified. His mother leaned into his father's chest and began to cry. Henry grabbed her wife's hand, hard. "What...why-why are they crying?" he turned to Sherlock demanding an answer.  
"You're dying John. The bomb, you hit your head very very hard, you got some shrapnel in your back. You've been in a coma for a few months. The doctor is telling them now." The man beside him was completely serious.  
"What-are you serious? No..." but as the man just stood there John realized it was true, he felt it. "So...who are you then? Death?"  
"Not exactly, I'm a reaper, I come to you in a calming form and help you transition from life to death; I help you accept it. There's a lot of us, I was assigned to you, but I do truly admire your life."  
The reaper turned and began leading the way back to John's room. "Do you understand? I know I'm being somewhat curt about it all; but you saw a lot of death while you served, I feel you're accepting of it already."  
"Wait, one question, well two actually. Is your name really Sherlock? And also, you said that you come in a calming form? I don't know the man you look like."  
"I don't have a set name, it changes. And yes, I know you don't know this man. His name is Sherlock, and the two of you would have, in the future, gotten married and had a good life together."  
"Why are you telling me this? To hurt me? Why do I need to know the life that I would have had?" John's voice began to break; because thing is, he could see his life with this man, somehow he could.  
"No, not to hurt you, to help you. I don't want you to be stuck here, a tormented soul, wondering what you could have had. So I tell you, it may hurt now, but you'll leave, and that is best." The tall, elegant reaper led the way into John's room, his small family coming in soon after.  
The army doctor helplessly watched as they all said their goodbyes, each hugging and kissing him in turn as he lay in the hospital bed. "What now?" he asked Sherlock.  
"I guess you have a choice, do you want to watch them pull the plug?"  
"No, not particularly."  
"Okay. Now give me your hands, I'm going to show you something. It will make your passing easier and give you more closure."  
"What am I going to see...?"  
"Part of what would've been your future, the part I know you most want to see." the reaper said this last part with a small smile before grabbing John's hands, plunging him into darkness.  
A moment later the world lit up around him, and it was like he was standing inside of a movie. He saw himself being introduced to Sherlock by a college friend. He felt the awe and sinking feeling when he talked to this brilliant man. Then they were in a flat together, Sherlock was playing a sweet sounding violin melody as John sat with closed eye, coffee in hand. Suddenly there was a new scene, anger welled up in John and he was yelling, then running through rain. Next he was standing, cold and wet, outside the flat, followed by warmth, a distant pressure on his lips, the calm of making peace with a loved one. And then everything faded out, except one voice and the words 'I love you'. A nervous feeling rose in his stomach, he felt someone holding his hand, then picking up a phone with the other, he saw himself then squeezing Sherlock's hand. Heard his mother's voice, then his own saying something about, "Dating, yes, for a couple of years now." then "Yes, we want to get married. We have your blessing? No, no date yet. Thank you, I love you guys!"  
A whole new setting slowly appeared, a wedding, John and Sherlock standing before a priest saying 'I do', then sharing a long kiss. The crowd clapping and cheering for them as they moved to the after party. The world around John faded to gray then. Allowing him one last view of an old Sherlock and John Watson, sitting in a flat in London, John smiling softly as Sherlock's old hands, still nimble, pulled the bow across the violin. Finally with a smile on his lips, John's vision faded to black, the last high note from the violin turning to one long keening, flat high pitched noise. The sound faded and John Watson simply whispered.  
"Thank you."  
And he swore he heard Sherlock Holmes say.  
"You're welcome."


End file.
